


For the Love of Cats (and a Promotion)

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops and Cafes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But More Accurately, But mostly fluff, Cat cafe AU, M/M, and a wee bit of plotting, and cats, have I mentioned the cats, minor politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: Cat Café, a sign said, halting him in his tracks. That was new; he couldn't remember seeing anything in this building since the Borders closed.Well, could be worse, he decided, and went inside.





	For the Love of Cats (and a Promotion)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autumn_fog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumn_fog/gifts).

> This is probably the softest thing I've ever written.
> 
> For one of my favorite people.❤

Tom had a headache again. After five hours of trying to convince Crouch that no, soliciting contributions from car manufacturers and even the owner of the mansion who wanted to keep the new light rail lines far from her property for ‘the public’s own good’ was not acceptable on an entirely publicly-funded project…

He was just done.

He needed a new boss. Who was he kidding? He needed a promotion.

Tom hated going out for drinks—too loud, too messy—but he needed somewhere to think that was not binging on _House of Cards_ (again) and making his way through a bottle of wine.

He walked down Jefferson and turned onto 23rd, then halted in surprise.

_Cat Café_, a sign said, halting him in his tracks. That was new; he couldn't remember seeing anything in this building since the Borders closed.

Well, could be worse, he decided, and went inside, grateful, at the very least, to get out of the autumn chill.

The warm smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries assaulted him as he stepped over the threshold. The lighting was soft, the walls decorated in prints of idyllic landscapes. The music was soft jazz, turned down so low that it could easily be ignored. So far, nothing special.

He walked in a little farther. There wasn't a line at the register; the number of patrons was suspiciously small.

"Hi, welcome to the Cat Cafe!" a far too chipper voice greeted. Tom nodded and glanced around. A young man stood behind the counter—college student or thereabouts, by the look of him—smiling in welcome. "We're closing in half an hour, so you made it just in time. What will you be having?"

"Earl Gray," Tom replied without looking at the menu. "And a scone, I suppose."

"Great! And would you like to see our list of cats? We have four right now, all of them very sweet."

"Your list of cats?"

"Or you could just go back to the playpen and give them some pets," the barista continued enthusiastically.

"I don't—" Ah, there was a half wall on one side of the room. He'd overlooked it. He couldn't see any cats, however, only a number of well-used scratching posts and an empty bed or two.

"They enjoy lying beneath that shelf," the barista explained, seeing Tom's skepticism. "They get up to all sorts of things under there." He looked weary.

As if to prove his point, there came a loud _clank_ as a container of catnip landed on the floor. Immediately, two cats pounced on it.

"The bigger one is Freda," the barista said, pointing at a large yellow cat. "The smaller one is Tux." Predictably, a black-and-white cat.

"That's great," Tom managed. "May I have my tea and scone now?"

"Oh, right." The barista blushed. "Ginny's better at this than I am."

The barista was so earnest, Tom had to admit, and it wasn't obnoxious, really. He took his cup of water and a teabag to the table closest to the playpen and settled to observe the cats. They were better than Crouch, anyway.

Freda set to mouthing at the catnip container, but she couldn't pry off the lid. Tux got bored and found a one-eared mouse toy, which he proceeded to bat around.

"Uh, here's your scone." The barista appeared suddenly at Tom's elbow, causing him to start. This close, Tom couldn't help but take note of his green eyes and messy black hair and lithe frame (an athlete, most likely). And, well, he was wearing some sort of scent, almost too faint to notice; it reminded Tom of midsummer nights and cool breezes.

"Thank you," he said.

The scone was…

Tom had never had a scone like it. It was _transcendent_. It was a scone among scones…

He needed a drink, a proper one, if he was already waxing this poetic.

The barista was walking back to the counter, as if Tom was just another customer (which no one should _ever_ think about him). Tom couldn't let him go without a word of approval, so he stood—leaving his Earl Gray to steep just a moment longer—and followed. "Who made the scone?" he asked.

"I did. I do most of the baking. Ginny's only good with the cats and the customers."

"You're fine with the customers." Tom didn't really know why he was trying to reassure him.

"Thanks."

"What is your name?" Again, why was he bothering?

"Oh, I'm Harry. You?"

Tom stretched out a hand. "I'm Tom." Harry looked down it his proffered hand in confusion, then shook it. Tom supposed such things didn't really happen frequently around here.

"Oh look! There's Smoky!" Harry pointed at a fluffy gray head, just visible from where they stood, poking out of a cat cave.

"Who's Smoky?" Tom asked, to humor him.

"He's our longest-lasting resident. No one wants to adopt him." Harry sighed. "I don't know why."

Smoky slowly padded into the open, and Tom could absolutely understand why he remained here.

Tom had never seen an uglier cat. He was a fine enough color, but his fur was patchy. His nose was squashed—possibly a Persian—but his tail was oddly bent, and one of his ears was torn.

"I would adopt him, but my roommate is allergic to cats. He's my favorite," Harry said.

Of course he was.

The scone had made Tom rather less annoyed at the world in general, and so he decided to humor this barista a little more. "Let's go meet the cats."

The smile Harry gave him in response was radiant, as if Tom had made his day many times over.

Harry pushed open a half-door at the back of the shop and led Tom into the playpen. Immediately upon their entry, a hitherto hiding orange and white cat came tripping into the open and nuzzled against Harry's leg.

"And this is Beryl." He scooped her up and stroked her; she squinted in contentment and gave an obliging chirp.

The other three gave Tom doubtful looks, then retreated into their crevices. Harry set Beryl down and tried to coax one of them out, but they ignored him.

"Ah, better luck next time." He ushered Tom out of the playpen. Tom finished his tea.

“Bold of you to assume there will be a next time.” He winked.

Harry smiled. “No one ever comes here just once. The cats keep things interesting.”

“And your menu.” Tom found himself now rather determined to try everything on it.

“Maybe that, too.” Harry winked in return.

*

"Riddle, my office, now!" Crouch tapped his foot impatiently.

"What do you need?" Tom suppressed a smirk.

"We're being audited! It's all your fault!" Crouch thrust a very official looking envelope under his nose. "They didn't like my attempts to diversify funding! They've been waiting for this for months."

Tom rolled his eyes. "We did leave out any mention of the overhead costs for the streetcar line." Among other things.

"Which you recommended!" Crouch's voice was getting hoarse, and it grated on Tom's ears.

"What do they cite for the reason, exactly?"

Crouch looked a bit sheepish. "That 2 million we gave to the streetcar contractors… They want to know where it came from.”

"Great. I'm going out for lunch." He didn’t much care for Crouch’s theatrics.

The cat cafe was much busier at this time of day. All the tables were full, and someone else was taking orders.

Not Harry.

Tom swallowed his disappointment and ordered a scone. "Ooh, I've heard about you," the red-haired barista said—the infamous Ginny, as evidenced by her nametag. "Harry told me to watch for you. He's in the back, showing people the cats.”

Indeed he was, holding out the old gray one for a small girl to pet. Smoky didn't struggle, but he wasn't pleased, evidenced by the twitching of his battered ear.

"Tom! Welcome back." Harry smiled at him. "Maybe you'll have better luck with the cats today."

On seeing Tom, Smoky deliberately edged away from the little girl's exuberant petting and reached out. "Well, would you look at that. Someone remembers you!" Harry sounded delighted.

Tom suspected it had far more to do with the child than with how the cat felt about him, but he was rather satisfied with Crouch’s stumbling to complain. So he stepped in front of Harry and gave Smoky the sought-after attention.

His fur was not soft; in fact, it was almost coarse. But Smoky let out an absolutely deafening purr, at which Tom almost cooed.

(How embarrassing.)

Harry’s smile was radiant. “Do you want to try holding him?”

Tom shook his head. “I have no idea how to do it properly.” His father had had barn cats, but the mothers had been terribly protective of their kittens, and Tom hadn’t cared enough to brave their wrath just to try, ah, holding one. He’d preferred to catch reptiles of various sorts instead.

“Oh, it isn’t too hard. Just make sure to support his feet, like this. And hold him securely.” Tom allowed Harry to guide his hands into the proper position. Harry’s hands were warm and sure, and Tom…enjoyed the touch, when he so often abhorred physical contact.

Odd. And obnoxious.

He didn’t look at Harry and focused on Smoky, who leaned into Tom’s chest and nuzzled his chin, mewling.

“Oh, he does like you. He doesn’t do that with just anyone.”

“I’ll take him,” Tom said with sudden certainty. “I wouldn’t want to lose my chance with him.”

“Fantastic!” Harry smiled and looked almost ready to hug him. Then he stopped, wilting. “There is an application process, and references…”

“I filled it out,” Tom assured him. He was always thorough. He’d picked one up on his first visit on a whim.

“We’d still need to go over it,” Harry said, “otherwise I’d let you take him today.”

Tom grinned and scratched Smoky behind the ears. “What if you, ah, came home with me to make sure everything’s in order?”

Harry considered him, his forehead wrinkling. “Why don’t we go out to dinner first?”

Well played, Tom congratulated himself.

He cradled Smoky in the crook of one arm and grasped Harry’s hand. “Sounds quite nice.”

From the front of the café, they heard slow clapping and turned to see Ginny, ignoring a customer to watch them. The customer in question didn’t seem terribly concerned. She was equally transfixed.

“um, well.” Harry coughed awkwardly and took back his hand. “Guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“Of course.” Tom reluctantly let Smoky down.

The other cats immediately swarmed Smoky with licks and head-butting, as if they sensed his imminent departure. Even Tom was moved., but not enough to take a second one.

*

“What is that?” Crouch stared down at the official envelope in Tom’s hand.

“Why, it’s a summons to a hearing, Mr. Crouch. Routine during audits, naturally. You and I both know what they’ll find.”

Crouch went deathly pale. “You… You backstabbing bastard! You’ve done something, I’m sure of it. Let something slip.”

Tom shook his head, scrunching his face into an expression of deepest hurt. “You think so little of me. We’ve worked together for years, sir.”

“I’ll find whatever you’re hiding, Riddle. I know you did something.” Crouch spluttered into silence at Tom’s tight little smile.

“Oh, sir, you did it yourself.”

It was even mostly true.

*

Tom leaned back, contented. Smoky had his head in Harry’s lap, while he rested in Tom’s. They’d come over here after celebrating Tom’s _perfectly legitimate_ promotion.

“Look at him,” Harry crooned, rubbing Smoky’s cheek. “He’s so happy.” Smoky’s purr was thunderous, and his warm weight was ridiculously relaxing.

“With no small thanks to you,” Tom said. “He loves it when you come over.”

“And what about you?” Harry bumped his shoulder against Tom’s—very gently, so as not to disturb the cat—and waggled an eyebrow.

“I also love it when you come over,” Tom rasped, and kissed him.

He had Crouch’s job, a cat, and Harry. He didn’t think it was possible to be more pleased.


End file.
